


The Bygone Years

by Omi_Smith



Series: Pwnyta's Peeps [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety and/or Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Near Death, Panic and/or Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Severe Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omi_Smith/pseuds/Omi_Smith
Summary: Stories of childhood memories, usually involving Kreetan and Zippo, though others may be included in the future.
Relationships: Burke Stillwaters | Blastoise / Sally Stillwaters | Squirtle, Ignatius Saraf | Charizard / Elli Saraf | Arbok, Zippo Saraf | Charizard & Kreetan Stillwaters | Blastoise
Series: Pwnyta's Peeps [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459720





	The Bygone Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pwnyta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Pwnyta).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kreetan, newly leveled up, lures Zippo out into their favorite clearing in the woods. He ambushes him with his newest attack, Bubbles, and laughs when he wins the impromptu match. It's not funny anymore when Zippo doesn't get up.
> 
> This is the story behind Kreetan's phobia of Zippo getting in water. Or just wet in general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written: September 11th, 2014. No beta.
> 
> Chapter specific tags: Severe Injury, Near Death, Panic and/or Panic Attacks, Anxiety and/or Anxiety Attacks, Self-Harm, Blood
> 
> A side disclaimer for the easter egg: Word/phrase in first quotes used belongs to the Dragon Ball franchise.  
> Based on Pwnyta’s comic titled “PKMN Childhood memories” on their deviant art account called Nire-chan (http://nire-chan.deviantart.com/art/PKMN-Childhood-memories-192717625).

“Kame-Ha-Me-HA!” he shouts from atop the stone, so tall. Forth from his palms burst Bubbles, yet untested, for his father just that morning took him out to their yard, intent on teaching the boy. In this world of theirs, only the strong survive, and he had no wish to lose another child. And so he taught young arrogant Kreetan a move that, by the newest laws passed, should yet be unavailable to him. The child is naive of the strength of such a move and has only but a passing awareness of the advantage he holds over his friend. And so, the Bubbles burst upon the unsuspecting Charmander, with a force that toppled him. The agony he experiences is beyond his comprehension, for it's the first the little Fire-type had been exposed to such. When he recalls the pain in later days, he describes it similar to being electrocuted and frozen at once, every nerve alight with jolting pain as a chill settles deep within his bones. While he may endure such a blow in years to come, he could not at this level. 

_“Kreetan?!”_ Zippo falls with a startled, anguished shout, confused as to why his best friend would hurt him so badly; laughter rings from the Squirtle, as children do in the elation of besting their fellows. Zippo collapses, his small body unable to cope, surrendering and falling into shock. Light and sound dull from the world around him, and though he struggles, an empty void, bereft of warmth and direction, consumes him.

From atop his stone, Kreetan gloats gleefully, “ _Told ya_ I’d get to level 7 before you!” The battle, if such an ambush can be referred to as such, finished, Kreetan shoves his goggles from his eyes and regards his fallen friend with amusement. He pulls from his pocket a Revive, given to him from a worried Sally Stillwaters, his mother. — _"Ya never know when ya shall need one. It’s better to have and not need than to need and not have!”_ — He tosses the crystalized drug to the ground by Zippo’s face. “Here’s a Revive! Breakfast of Losers!”

But the Fire-type, prone upon the earth, neither heard nor reacted. His flesh ashen, the skin under his eyes blackened, his breaths not but shuddering gasps, and the flame upon the tip of his tail scarcely an ember flickering with the last reserves of life energy left in the child. The limp form of his friend drains Kreetan’s enthusiasm. “Oh, _come on Zippo,_ Bubble’s not _THAT_ strong...” He would know. His father said so and even used the move on Kreetan to show the strength the move had — _“Not that strong but enough to make a point!”._

Zippo still has yet to move or make a sound. “You can still move, right” Fear begins to creep down his spine. “Zipp? ...Hey, Zippo?!” Kreetan leaps from his perch; a hesitant fear combines with vague ill-ease and desperate hope, creating slow and choppy movements. 

“Zippo, you’re freaking me out! Just eat the Revive you asshole!!” Kreetan touches the Charmander upon his shoulder, giving a gentle nudge of encouragement to awaken. But it's for naught. Zippo is both cold and wet to the touch, attributes sorely misplaced and unnatural for the Fire-type, so much so that Kreetan recoils. He stands over his friend, unsure. How can Zippo eat the Revive if he were unconscious?!

It's then the turtle’s eyes catch upon the dying life flame. 

_His tail..._

Kreetan gently lifts Zippo’s tail. He’s never seen the lick of fire so small before, moments away from guttering — “If my flame goes out, I’ll die. I think _that_ might be why Dad doesn’t like for me to hang out with you...”.

“Hey, you were just kidding about that tail thing, right Zippo?!” A gentle breeze wafts past. Nearly it seems to snuff out the flame. Panic jolts through Kreetan, tears spilling over. This was real. 

_Oh shit_ , this was _real_. 

“THAT’S A _REALLY_ STUPID WEAKNESS, SERIOUSLY ZIPPO?!!!” His voice cracks. “HOW DO I FIX IT?!”

He sobs. Shit, shit, **shit**. _What's he supposed to do?!_ Once again the wind picks up; just as suddenly, the very air becomes a deadly threat. “ **NO**!” The shrill denial seems impossibly loud, echoing within his ears. Kreetan yanks his life-vest open, anxious to protect the little lick of flame. “Zippo! Come on! Wake up!!” He huddles over the fire, pleading but not daring to reach out to shake Zippo again and risk compromising his makeshift shelter. _What... How... How can he save Zippo?_

“ _Please_ don’t die...” Kreetan whimpers; carefully, he scoots forward until he's able to gather his friend close, hugging him to his chest with the tail delicately clutched to Kreetan’s heart and protected from the wind in the confines of the vest. As a Water-type, it takes longer for Kreetan to burn, the little fire not hot or strong enough to hurt him. At least for a little while. 

Sobs rent the air. _Who could possibly help him?_ His heart thuds painfully against his ribs as he tries to think. The little fire smoldering on Zippo’s tail reminds him of the only other person he knows with a tail fire. Zippo’s dad! _Mr. Saraf would know what to do!_ “D-don’t wo-worry, Zipp. I’ll get ya to your dad! I’ll get you better!” Kreetan hiccups past his snivels. He gathers Zippo in his arms. With a mighty heave, he shoves himself up. 

Yet he overestimates himself. His strength fails him, and he falls, Zippo jarring loose from his hold. The precious flame once again is exposed to the unmerciful, murderous elements. Kreetan scrambles to his feet, nearly collapsing upon his friend in his rush to save the fire. Once — nay, twice — more does he fail to carry the Charmander. Finally, with Zippo on his back, his tail threading into Kreetan’s vest through a sleeve, and his flame hidden in a hollow Kreetan creates between his belly and his vest, Kreetan was able to stand while supporting Zippo. 

Thus the trek back to Zippo’s home began. Kreetan counts neither the times he crashes to his knees, body trembling from the strain, nor the passing of minutes into hours. He moves in a haze of pain, of exhaustion, of _“Help Zippo; gotta help him; don’t you dare give up Zippo!”_ The desperation fueling him would raze the hardest heart raw.

He can't use his hands when he finally gets to the Sarafs' door. So he uses his head. Once again he overestimated; his head bashes against the door with enough force to produce a resounding thud and to splinter the door at the impact site. So deep is his desolate stupor, he feels no pain from the damage he deals himself. He checks once again on the flame, an action that would forevermore be a dire compulsion. It is still there; its presence elicits a watery smile.

The sight meeting Elli Saraf at the door will haunt her day and night well beyond the end of her days. Her baby boy is still as death, draped over Kreetan Stillwaters’ back. Sickening horror renders her mute, for she could not see her baby’s flame. And Kreetan! Blood drips down his so very pale face. Grime has ruined his clothes. _And his knees—! Oh God_ , she’s seen ground beef in better condition! “ _In!_ Come in and hurry!” Kreetan gasps out a sob and starts blubbering, trying to explain what happened; truly, she doesn’t quite care right now. She must ensure her baby survives the night. 

Her husband, drawn no doubt by the noise, bursts into the room; he calms, seeing no threat, and listens to the boy's story. Drawing her son away from Kreetan, she finally sees the boys' true states. Kreetan’s vest is a lost cause, the insides smoldering black. Kreetan’s abdomen was burned and blistering. And Zippo’s flame was but a dim glow. Every change threatens to extinguish it. She clutches her child to her, irrational instinct insisting that doing so would save her baby.

Her husband gently and carefully takes Zippo from her, despite her hissing threats and warnings at him. His calm, smooth movements ease rational thought back to her. He lays their child on the couch, stripping him of his wet clothes. She fetches towels, blankets, heaters, _anything_ and _everything_ she can think of to help, even her hairdryer. When she returns to the room, the Stillwaters boy was gone. “I sent him home,” her husband replies when she asks. A sharp reprimand snaps into life, but she refrains from striking. Now is not the time. She'll deal with her husband after their son is safe.

As for Kreetan, he speaks naught of what happened that day to his mother as she tends his wounds. He is an empty shell, scarcely eating and barely sleeping. He almost killed his best friend. _What if he actually **did**? Was Zippo even alive still?! _

Two hellish months pass in the Stillwaters house, his parents at a loss on how to help him. His dad is angry and hunting for those responsible for his son’s wounds and depression; though, he's very kind in Kreetan's presence, doing his best to try to cheer his son up. His mother does her best to convince Kreetan to speak with her about it, assuring him of their love and understanding no matter what had happened. 

It was during dinner when she suggests her son go out and play with his good friend Zippo, that Kreetan breaks, sobbing and wailing that Zippo was dead. His mom immediately pulls her boy into her lap, comforting him; her husband, silent, stands and leaves the room, intending to call the Sarafs and see if it were true or not. He knows from what his wife told him of their son’s injuries that it must have been a Fire-type that hurt him. The Charmander boy wasn’t strong enough yet to produce any Fire attacks, but that doesn’t preclude the possibility that they were attacked by a stronger Fire Pokémon, one that killed the Saraf kid and hurt his boy. Since this was the first he’s heard of it, he can only assume the Sarafs dealt with it. 

He returns from speaking with Mrs. Saraf roughly half an hour later, finding his son still sheltered by his mother. Mrs. Saraf had gotten Zippo’s half of the story once he had awoken, sharing it with him but refusing his invitation to his house. She explains her son is still too weak to travel outside. His fire has yet to rebuild its natural resistances to wind and moisture again, the same resistances which allow Pokémon of the Charmander evolution line to move freely, despite the force of the winds, or which prevents their fire from immediately being extinguished by water, giving them a precious few moments to be saved. He grimly accepts the situation, knowing his son will have to endure a while yet. After all, with this event and the Charmander's current fragility built upon the already volatile hostility of the father, _that Charizard_ , he dares not allow Kreetan to visit them, even if he went with him. A fight between their fathers is the last thing the boys need.

And the worst part is that he can't even blame the bastard. Reflecting on his own behavior these past two months, he wouldn't be anything but hostile in that situation.

Instead, he speaks to his son for a long time. He explains the intricacies of type advantages and disadvantages. He describes how a Pokémon's body will have at least some form of safeguard for their species’ natural weaknesses, especially those tied directly to their life. He outlines circumstances that Kreetan can use actual full-force attacks against another Pokémon and when he shouldn't. He tries to stress the fact that Zippo is alive, will even fully recover from the incident.

Kreetan, however, is too young to fully comprehend, too traumatized to believe. Kreetan remains unmoved from his desolation, certain that his dad is lying to him. A bleakness, darker than before, consumes him.

Another week passes. When Kreetan is confronted by undeniable proof of his father's words, it is in the form of Mrs. Saraf and Zippo at his door, both cheerfully welcomed by his mom, who carefully hugs Zippo before hugging Mrs. Saraf; she buries her face in the Arbok's shoulder, sniffling, as Mrs. Saraf motions her permission for her son to continue without her and tearfully returns the hug. 

Shell shocked, Kreetan stands frozen in the hall, staring at his friend. He trembles as Zippo approaches him. Zippo looks tired and frail. _Too skinny_ , his mind insisted. It's not until Zippo nudges his arm that Kreetan accepts that he wasn't dreaming again. After all, he'd never been able to touch Zippo in his nightmares. Radiant joy unlike any he's known before brightens his world. Both boys were inseparable for the following weeks, taking turns spending the night at each other’s houses, despite Mr. Saraf’s disapproval, though Mrs. Saraf insured neither boy knew of that. Each made sure the other recovered from the ordeal. At least, physically. They keep a strict eye on each other's plates, ensuring all food was eaten, even the nasty bits that they had at one time helped each other to hide. Neither allowed the other to skip sleep, even when they weren't really tired, ending up with the two sharing their beds right along with their sleep schedules. And, when one suffered a nightmare, the other offered naught but comfort, despite being known to light-heartedly heckle each other over them before.

Yet, for Kreetan at least, the psychological scars — deep enough to mar his very soul — will last. 


End file.
